


Haunt Yourself

by elwinglyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Halloween Challenge, Halloween Party fun, HalloweenLock 2017, M/M, Vampires, graveyard, halloweenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinglyre/pseuds/elwinglyre
Summary: There's never too much suspension of disbelief--especially not with vampires hanging in graveyards or detectives haunting labs at St. Bart's. When too much Toxic Halloween punch lowers inhibitions, Sherlock throws his heart to the wind and scares up more than the dead.Written for Halloweenlock 2017





	Haunt Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MrBotanyB's beta who spends time to fix my mistakes and makes me a better writer.

As the dried leaves and twigs crunched beneath their feet like bits of brittle bones, the moonlight cast long shadows in Putney Vale Cemetery. Wind whistled and curled around their legs as John and Sherlock’s shadows joined those of the gnarled trees. They’d raced around tombstones and cast eyes up to the ghostly spectre above their heads. Feet and legs flailed and danced between the old mausoleum and the large oak tree. 

“I don’t believe this rubbish,” Sherlock said, stepping closer to John.

“But I am an incorporeal being! A vampire!” the suspect said, flapping his arms in desperation. In his effort to escape, the man had wedged himself tight between the old tree that grew snug against the crypt. In his haste to escape from the detective and his partner, he’d scaled the tree to climb on top of the mausoleum to jump the fence beyond, but instead had slipped and fallen in the vee between the monument and the tree. He was trapped at the waist, and the more he struggled to free himself, the farther into the vee he slid.

“He does look the part, cinched in that tree with that dark cape like he’s flying. Those long fangs and pallid complexion are just icing on the cake,” John said, hands thrust in his coat pockets.

“Only a silver bullet through the heart can stop me!” the vampire gasped and his waist slid down another inch. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That’s a werewolf. Do get your supernatural beings straight!”

“That has to hurt. He’s stuck pretty tight in there,” John said, walking around the tree and looking up at the bloodsucker. “What say you call Lestrade and tell him we have the Vale Grove Vampire up a tree, so we can get back to Baker Street. I’d like to get to the Halloween party at Bart’s before it’s over.”

“Noooo!” the man wailed. “You think you have me, but you do not! I’ll have you under my hypnotic powers before that detective from Scotland Yard arrives! Look  _ deep _ into my eyes…” 

“Why don’t you just turn into a bat and fly away?” Sherlock sneered. “That’s what I do.”

The vampire’s eyes widened in surprise. “I thought I recognized you! It is you! Sherlock Holmes, King of Vampires! You came back from the dead! Flew across London after you jumped off St. Bart's roof. Ah, yes, I’ve heard that you suck the blood from the living!”

John laughed. “Yes, while he has been known to suck blood from the living, he doesn’t eat during cases.”

Sherlock chose to ignore John’s barbs and continued to text Lestrade. 

“Fasting! Yes. Well, we all need to cleanse ourselves from time to time,” the vampire said. “Speaking of cleansing...do get me out of this tree. The bark is starting to chafe.” 

“I think that’s a fine place for you,” John said. “If it was up to me, I’d never get you down. You deserve worse after terrorizing all those young girls and killing your step mum.”

“She deserved it. It was actually a burden on my part. She wasn’t very tasty.”

“Oh my God, Sherlock,” John said, covering his mouth. “He drank her  _ blood _ .”

“Of course he did. Do keep up.” Sherlock checked his cell. “Lestrade is on his way.”

“Good,” John said. “We’re going to be late for the Halloween party. We could leave him. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

“We should wait. Lestrade might want a statement.”

“Since when…” John said, turning to Sherlock. “You never want to stop and talk to Lestrade— unless...you’re stalling. You just don’t want to go to the party at Barts.”

“Boring, John.”

“Isn’t there a point when you want to stop chasing crazed killers in the dead of night?” John asked.

“Never!” said the man in the tree. “He’s Count Sherlock!”

“The man in the tree is correct.”

“This is too much,” John said, laughing. “You couldn’t make up this shite.”

“You laugh now,” gasped the vampire, “but later you will regret your disparaging comments about  _ our _ lifestyle.”

“Lifestyle?!” John said, continuing to laugh. 

Sherlock frowned at him. “Yes, John.  _ Lifestyle _ .”

They didn’t wait too much longer. Lestrade arrived straight from the party at Barts dressed as Batman. His looming bat shadow seemed to fit into the bat ambiance of the Vale Cemetery.

“I’ve called a cab,” John said. “We should have time to get home and change.”

“Or I could change here.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re going to turn into a vampire,” John said.

“I thought I already was a vampire!” he twirled around with a wink, then turned to John. “Did you forget? I  _ was _ going as a pirate, but you  _ refused _ to be my captive and walk the plank. I might as well go as is. Our friend in the tree seems to think I look the part, why not?” 

“No. You made me go with you to buy that pirate costume. I need some form of compensation for all those hours of you preening,” John said, recalling how handsome Sherlock looked when he waltzed around Angel’s Fancy Dress Shop in those leather laced boots and skin-tight trousers. 

“You refused! All I wanted was you tied up with an eye patch!”

“No! Just, no! I already had my costume. I’m going as the Doctor.”

“Oh, so you’re not changing either?” Sherlock asked.

“What? No. I’m going as  _ the  _ Doctor.”

“Of course you’re going as the doctor. That’s what you are!”

“No, THE Doctor.”

“Doctor who?” Sherlock said, smirk on his face. 

John wasn’t sure if Sherlock was serious or not. Hard to tell with him when it came to popular culture. “ _ Yes _ . Doctor Who.” 

“Old joke,” the vampire said, as Lestrade’s men worked to pry him from the tree with crow bars. 

“He’s in there tight. Might have to cut the tree.”

“Oh, why not just chop him in half!” John shouted. “We already missed Rosie dressing up and going out. Good that Mrs. Hudson likes to trick or treat or she would have missed it too.”

“Yes, I was sorry we missed that John, but Mrs. Hudson texted me that Rosie is still in her costume.”

“I’m sure she was adorable,” Lestrade said. “I remember my kids going out. It was great fun.”

“You missed her dressed up earlier today for school,” John said. “If we leave now, you can still see her as a princess.”

“John, I  _ always _ see Rosie as a princess.”

The soft-warm spot inside John’s heart swelled three times its size with those words. 

“Let’s all go,” Lestrade said. “We can take my car. I really need to get back too. It’s hard to get respect from your men wearing a cape and a mask with bat ears— besides, I’d like to see our little princess.”

Later, as they mingled at Bart’s, Sherlock still complained bitterly that they had to leave Rosie for a dull party. Lestrade made him leave. Said he needed to get out more like a real person. 

At the party, it was worse. He resented that John made him stop sharing a scary story with two of the nurses. He had them shrieking and terrified when John barged up and said that real stories about severed heads was a bit “not good.” It was Halloween. What better night to share blood and death and decapitation? 

And he still didn’t understand John’s costume. What was so special about that unfashionable suit? John said he "liked bow ties." Since when did he ever think that “they were cool?” Although Sherlock had to admit that he rather liked how the suspenders and tweed jacket looked on John, he especially liked the tight, black trousers, though for different reasons.

“Sherlock, you  _ could  _ have worn a costume,” Molly said, all dressed up as someone she called Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, including a horrendous blue checked dress, red slippers and basket with a faux dog in it she referred to as “Toto.” 

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and took another sip of the Halloween punch. His throat was a bit scratchy, and it felt soothing going down. He really didn’t get Halloween costumes at all. In what way were red sparkly shoes and pigtails even remotely scary?

“He is wearing a costume. Can’t you tell? ‘ _ He’s going to drink your blood _ ’,” John said in his best Count Dracula voice. Sherlock pouted. Maybe if he pouted long enough, John would take him home.

“What’s new?” said Molly. “He’s always after someone’s blood.”

“Not just anyone’s blood,” Sherlock answered, leering at John’s neck. “John’s blood. There’s only one neck I would love to suck.”

Molly giggled and blushed.

“Just how many glasses of that Killer Halloween punch have you had?” John asked, taken aback.

“Not glasses, beakers, and this is my  _ fourth _ beaker of Toxic Ooze.”

“Fourth. Hmmm.”

Sherlock the Vampire swayed. Molly giggled more. John looked perplexed at both of them. 

“Click those heels three times and say ‘There’s no place like home’ and I’ll get your picture on my mobile,” John offered. 

Sherlock frowned, he didn’t much like the way his John was looking at Molly. 

“John, I think I may need your assistance. As a  _ doctor _ .”

Sherlock took hold of John’s tweed jacket and pulled him across the room followed by many a raised eyebrow, including Molly’s as she clicked  her heels a third time. As he led John down the hall to the chemical lab, Sherlock turned to his friend and whispered: “You know my secret; therefore, you know what that means I must do!”

“Kill me?” John said with a laugh.

“No-o!” Sherlock laughed back and stopped in front of the lab door. He drew a serious breath. “Of course not! That’s _ not _ how it works. I  _ indoctrinate  _ you. Bring you over to the dark side.”

“Sherlock, that’s Star Wars, not Dracula.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock opened the door to the lab and pulled John into the dark recesses of the room.

“Ouch! Sherlock, what are you doing?!”

“I’m biting your neck.”

“Yes, well, I could tell that. But why?!”

“I told you. You know my secret. I have no choice.”

“Sherlock, you’re drunk.”

“Yes, drunk with love.”

“Sherlock? Are you alright?”

“I will never be alright. You know that better than anyone.”

At this point, Sherlock knew he had nothing to lose. He nipped at John’s neck again. 

“What?! Sherlock, no! Stop! What? No, don’t...stop...don’t stop...”

He didn’t intend to stop. He found John’s mouth instead. All wet and wanting. In the dark, it was easy. He didn’t have that extra sense to contend with and could just feel John close to him, all itchy and needy. And John felt soooo good. He especially loved the vibrations John made under his tongue as he flicked it around the doctor’s mouth.

With a bang, John stepped back against a lab table where Sherlock pressed his advantage and pushed him down on the metal slab. It was a bit cold and had wheels, but Sherlock toed the wheel brakes down to lock the table in place.. The metal top  _ would  _ warm up. Shortly.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John.”

“We’re doing this. Right?”

“Yes, John.”

“Good. That’s all I wanted to know.”

Off came the bow tie. It was cool, but Sherlock needed more neck to nibble. Down came the red suspenders. Off came the form-fitted white shirt. And those oh, so tight trousers? Sherlock’s nimble fingers unfastened them with the dexterity of Houdini. He made John’s red pants disappear just as fast.

Sherlock’s own clothes were gone by the time he could pull a rabbit out of a hat.

“I’m going to suck you off now, John.”

“Oh God, yes!”

His full lips slipped down John’s stomach, his tongue lapped at his belly button, then dipped lower, lower and slithered along the length of John’s stiff cock. With a deep rumble in the back of his throat, Sherlock took him into his mouth and bobbed his head up and down its length. The table groaned as much as they did. 

He worked up an amazing rhythm as he writhed against John’s firm leg. 

“Oh, God! Sherlock! I’m going to come!”

With a pop, Sherlock’s mouth came off John’s cock. “No, not yet!”

Deft hands slathered lube up and down John’s thick member. Sherlock took extra care to cover its head with his fingertips. The sounds John made were spectacular.

“What in God’s name are you waiting for, Sherlock!”

“Those very words,” and with that, Sherlock straddled John on the table, then lowered himself with a deep moan onto John’s slick cock. 

“John!” he gasped. He’d never expected this...this...existential, cataclysmic, life-changing force. Why had he not done this with John before? John had said that sex was brilliant. What he really meant was that sex with John was brilliant.

Lips met and parted and tongues danced. Sherlock pulled away, momentarily out of breath, but managed to come back in deep baritone, lilting in his best vampire impersonation: “Happy Halloween, John!” Those doctor’s hands touched him again. More brilliance! 

“Well, same to you…”   


“Intercourse is brilliant!” Sherlock said.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Are you sure you’re alright? Was there something else in that punch?” 

“No. Nothing. But you’re perfect. I am perfect. I have never been this perfect!” John gripping his ass was perfect. John winding his freckled ankles around Sherlock calves was perfect. That drop of sweat on John’s brow was perfect. 

How had he not known until now that his John was perfection?!

While they rocked together, the cart’s wheels had magically unlocked and the table squeaked and rolled around the lab as they fucked themselves to what Sherlock thought would result in mutual spontaneous combustion. As they crashed into a wall, they came— John’s legs wrapped around Sherlock’s back. It took a more than a few moments for them to catch their breath.

“Soooo,” John said, finally clearing his throat, “you’re drunk with love for me.”

“Yes, I believe I said that. It was true, or is true. That is, I truly am.”

“Well, same goes for me— even without four beakers of Toxic What’s-it.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said as he collapsed on top of his partner and kissed his neck. “You are  _ perfection _ !”

“Yes, well, no one has ever told me that before…”

“People are idiots.”

“You keep telling me that.” John reached up and curled his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck. “How about another snog?” 

“Yes, John. Of course. You have such brilliant ideas. A snog. More than one snog, perhaps?” 

“Yes. As many and for as long as you like. But could we get off this table?”

“Yes, John. That would be perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments and kudos. I can’t say enough how important knowing you enjoy or liked my work. Please leave me a note or press the Kudos for this work and other works you read here on AO3. We love you for it!
> 
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